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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375341">Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/emthefirst/pseuds/emthefirst'>emthefirst</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Destiny (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Slow Build</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:54:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375341</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/emthefirst/pseuds/emthefirst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Shaxx lS the Crucible. He loves his job, lives and breathes it, dreams about it and wakes up shouting about it. He loves the combat, the learning that comes from the wins and losses, the replays and the crowds hanging around everywhere the matches are being streamed, the whole works. Everything about it makes him positively vibrate with excitement.</p><p>He tends to forget that not everybody feels the same.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Female Guardian/Shaxx (Destiny)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>88</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. False start</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Since you all seemed to like the Mouse one-shot, here's Chapter 1 of the backstory. More to come as I get it edited and tidied up. All feedback welcome!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As much as Shaxx relishes his duties, it's not all fun and games. Deep down at the back of his mind is always the more solemn knowledge that all this is in aid of the endgame, the final war  - or even just the next one, and the one after that, however many it takes before humanity can finally call Earth safe again and start to rebuild. But as long as there are threats, there will be guardians - and it’s his job to make sure they reach their full potential.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>No surprise then that the other thing he loves, the part of the job that makes him twitch with anticipation, is the watching and the waiting, the hoping and the talent-spotting. Identifying promising new lights and coaxing them to step into his Crucible and be tested. Every new arrival sees him hurrying to his standpoint, inching cautiously around his corner to watch the newcomer cross the landing zone to be introduced to Zavala, and down to see Ikora. In the few brief minutes they’re in his line of sight he covertly assesses their stance, their movement, their awareness. How do they handle their gun? Are they alert, paying attention to their surroundings? how are they dealing with all the information they’re being bombarded with? All crucial tells signalling how they’ll cope in battle.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Today is a good day. Under his helmet he’s beaming, though he’s making an effort to keep his voice as stern as ever. But the sun is shining, his team roster is full to bursting, and not one but two new lights are crossing the concourse on their way to the Titan Vanguard’s lookout post. A hunter and a warlock, both in the basic starter gear every new recruit gets issued, both cradling a new Tower sidearm along with a collection of motley weapons they took from whatever tried to kill them on their way here. One of them, the exo hunter, already shows all the signs of being a fearsome contender - hasn’t dropped his battle stance once since he arrived. Yes, he’ll do. Definitely.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And the other one, the human warlock … well, the jury’s still out on that one. She’s short and slight, making him wonder why she would choose the warlock class when she’s far more the typical hunter build. Heavy arched brows frame her hazel eyes, looking around her calmly as she takes in the bustle of her unfamiliar surroundings. She’s almost too calm, too serene, the only animation she shows is in impatiently pushing stray curls off her face as they escape from the thick plait hanging down her back.  Almost as if some of the information just isn’t registering, or she’s deliberately filtering it out to maintain her composure. A case in point, over at the far side of the Tower a jumpship comes in wide and narrowly avoids tangling up in the safety nets at the edge of the landing zone, causing a flurry of alarm from the crew, and the hunter instantly whips round with his weapon at the ready. Hah! Yes, excellent reflexes. But the warlock seems not to have noticed, or not to care, and she turns much more slowly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Right</em>. That one will need some training, and the sooner the better.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Their guide smoothly brings them over for introductions, and as he expected the hunter can’t put his name down fast enough, adding his name in a barely legible scrawl sloping wildly across the datapad. He’ll barely have time to meet Ikora before he needs to prepare for his first match.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The warlock on the other hand stares coolly at Shaxx, at the weapons racks behind him, at the gruesome trophies stacked around him and hanging above his head, before turning back to her guide.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“You said ‘Warlord’ Shaxx?”. Her speech is precise, with a hint of an accent snapping the r’s in ‘warlord’ and a cool, distant edge.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yes, the Crucible handler. It’s very popular, the matches are streamed out every - “.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She raises a hand and cuts him off as if he wasn’t even speaking.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I am not interested in murdering people for a warlord's entertainment.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her dark eyes rake scornfully across Shaxx as she turns away, effectively dismissing him. He’s horrified, it goes without saying. Entertainment? Has she completely missed the point? He pushes past the hunter and the guide staring in open mouthed dismay, and steps in front of her, looming over her with his arms spread wide to stop her from moving past him.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“This has nothing to do with my entertainment.”, he raps out. “This is for your own good, guardian! How can we know whether you can handle yourself, whether we can rely on you, if you’re too afraid to show what you can do?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Maybe he was too quick to assume cowardice on her part; she doesn't reach for her weapon but she braces instantly to avoid being overbalanced, the light of battle in her eye.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I will survive without your good opinion.", she snaps back. “Do you bully everyone this way?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Abruptly he realises what a scene he's creating, towering over this tiny new Light who barely comes up to the middle of his chest. He steps back hastily and lowers his arms, ashamed of his momentary flash of anger.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Is this Crucible of yours compulsory?”, she demands, still braced for trouble, and he raises his hands placatingly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“In no way, no. But -“.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She turns away smoothly. “But nothing. You have my answer.”. She gestures imperiously for her guide to lead on to where they were going next. He wavers for a second, casting Shaxx a nervous glance before capitulating.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well …! I can see I have some work to do there.”, Shaxx mutters to himself as they turn out of sight. No point worrying about it now, he’ll have a word with the Vanguard later. Maybe Ikora can talk some sense into her.</p>
  <hr/>
</div><p>“If you are going to lecture me, you can go back in the backpack.”. The warlock glances up from her workbench and arches one severe eyebrow at Safi hovering fretfully beside her.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>The Tower quartermaster was abjectly apologetic about not having one of the newer units available, but she’s delighted with what she’s been offered; a haphazardly laid out studio apartment right at the edge of the older developments, part of a stone-walled complex that might have been shops or workshops once upon a time. It even comes with a pre-existing workspace she can use, a scuffed wooden table built into the awkward alcove under the window, and the maintenance crew were about to break it down for the scrap pile when she stopped them with a hasty “No, It’s perfect. Leave it.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Add to that the bonus of the sun terrace leading off the side door and a tiny mezzanine balanced securely on top of the thick stone wall that hides her sleep space from the main living room, and she has everything she needs. She’s not one to squeal with delight, but the discovery of the terrace would have sealed the deal above anything else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She didn’t arrive at the Tower with much, but the workbench is already littered with what she did bring. Aside from the antique auto rifle she’d apparently been holding when she died there a rusted shotgun of more use as a cosh than as a projectile weapon, two energy sidearms looted from a Fallen cache, and - treasure of treasures - a tech’s toolbelt she found hanging on a hook in the basement of the ruin where Safi resurrected her. It’s basic, but it’ll do for a start. They say there’s a bazaar out in the city somewhere that she plans to visit as soon as she has some currency, this ‘glimmer’ they keep going on about. She needs more tools, and some magazine oil, and wire wool and cloths and - oh, everything.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How do I earn some of this glimmer?”, she interrupts Safi grumbling yet again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, there’s missions - you could run some patrols. Or there’s the Crucible, there are always bounties for weapons testing - “.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Weapons testing, yes. Crucible, no.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Safi sighs dejectedly. “Look, I’m serious. You could get into real trouble, being rude to Lord Shaxx like that. He’s very highly regarded around here you know, and -“.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Good for him. No Crucible.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She pushes back from the bench and stalks across to the tiny kitchen, emptying out her small sack of groceries and putting some aside. Safi floats closer to try and continue the conversation, but the grim look on her guardian’s face as she grips the knife and starts dicing vegetables makes her think better of it. Another time, maybe.</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>Something many guardians forget, but the Vanguard never does, is that here’s more to being a guardian than bringing down Hive gods. Much, much more. While the godslayers are spread across the system doing their thing, the stuff of myth and legend, other guardians have more domestic - you might almost say mundane - tasks closer to home. City patrols for example, being as visible as possible as a reminder and a reassurance that this place has powerful protection.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She accepts the duty without demur, much to Ikora’s relief, and it soon proves to have been an excellent choice. Her no-nonsense attitude coupled with her keen observational skills make her a firm favourite with the locals, especially in the poorer parts of the city. She stops to chat with shopkeepers and stallholders, making a note of potential troubles, smoothing out minor disagreements by offering ideas and compromises. She exclaims over the quality of the fabrics on display, compliments artisans on their skill; buys fresh bread, ripe fruit, spices for her kitchen, refusing to pay anything less than the market rate. She’s an instant hit. Firm but fair, they say about her. The guardian who listens. The helper. The name she’d chosen is quickly forgotten, replaced by the name she’s earned - <em>Ayudante</em>, they call her, Ayu for short, and with her spending so much time patrolling the city it’s not long before she forgets to answer to anything else.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>More often than not her patrol times coincide with the end of the school day, and she collects a ragged comet-tail of curious youngsters as she passes through the neighbourhood. She happily lets the children crowd around and walk alongside her, encouraging them to tell her about their day, teaching them the names of the plants they pass. The children start bringing her bouquets and posies and flower crowns that she accepts with all due solemnity, no matter how untidy the bundle or how common the weed; and when they ask her what her favourite flower is she tells them - all of them, but especially the ones that are still alive. After that they start bringing her seeds and cuttings from their parents’ patios and window boxes, fragile seedlings with their roots bundled in damp tissue. Neglected pot plants, dry and twisted and beyond salvation … unless Ayu could maybe work her magic? Please and thank you …</p>
  <hr/>
</div><p>Patrolling the streets of the city brings far fewer opportunities to acquire new weapons via gunfights, but it provides unparalleled access to the corner of the souk that the antique dealers frequent, the handful of stalls right at the end of the alley with baskets piled high with unidentifiable lumps, equal parts rust and metal salvaged from who-knows-where. It’s a treasure trove she keeps returning to, adding to her collection of projects until she starts to run out of glimmer. The stack of finished weapons under her workbench is a growing testament to her skill, every single one painstakingly repaired and restored to perfect working order, hand-tested at the shooting range and tweaked to peak operational performance. Any guardian would give their eyes to own a fraction of the arsenal she’s amassed.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>“Maybe you could sell some of your finished projects?”.  Safi is genuinely trying to be helpful, after watching Ayu despondently calculate her weekly outgoings for the third time and fail to come up with a more encouraging total. “I mean eventually you’re going to run out of space. And these are good, really good, you know how people keep asking where you got them from. I bet people would pay.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I suppose.”, Ayu acknowledges bleakly. “It’s just … I didn’t do these for anyone else, I did them for me. To keep and to use.”. Safi is fully prepared for that to be the end of the discussion, like most of their disagreements, but to her surprise there’s more this time. “I wonder - if I can make just a little more glimmer this week, I could buy up some more pieces specifically to sell. That would work.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yes! Great idea, let’s do that.”. Safi springs into action before the idea can be discarded. "Let’s see, accessing the bounties board - “. She pauses, humming to herself while she scans the incoming data. “Okay, there’s the usual. Crucible - no, I know, I know, no Crucible. Um, bounty requests have started showing up for this Gambit thing, but it looks a bit shady to me. I’d avoid it if I were you. Oh, but here’s something … if you don’t mind going a little outside your comfort zone, that is?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Let me see.”. Ayu gestures imperiously and Safi hastily projects the bounty notice in mid-air in front of her. “Titan? Why there?.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s perfect! It’s a hotspot at the moment, with Commander Sloane trying to get that second rig back under control. Lots of bounties for different things, so no shortage of earning potential. And in case you didn’t know, that’s where the Arcology is.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“A functional Arcology?”. Ayu straightens up from her despondent slump with an arrested look in her eye."Does it still have plants?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ghosts can’t smile, but if they could Safi would be trying to smother a grin right now. “Who knows? We should check it out. You know. If we’re going.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh, we are going.”, is the decisive answer, and Safi wiggles her shell in excitement.</p>
  <hr/>
</div><p>Commander Sloane isn’t one to turn down an additional pair of hands, even if their combat record is a little on the light side. Ever the multitasker, she greet’s Ayu’s arrival with a grateful nod, a double handful of bounty slips and an apologetic gesture at the seven other people demanding her attention, and thinks no more of it when she doesn’t see the diminutive warlock for a couple of days.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>You’d better believe she pays attention when the kill reports start coming in, though.</p>
  <p>“If these figures are accurate, this new guardian has almost a one hundred percent conversion rate.”, she marvels, on the comm to Ikora for the usual daily stand-down. "Long range, precision energy kills mostly. Never seems to miss. I thought you said they weren’t much for combat?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, we assumed … “, the warlock Vanguard tails off thoughtfully. “I don’t know. Perhaps we shouldn’t have. She expressed very clear discomfort at the idea of going into the Crucible, that’s all, so we assigned her to city patrols for the time being.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, if she’s not war-hungry enough for you Tower types I’ll happily keep her.”, Sloane gloats good-naturedly. “She’s more than good enough from where I’m standing.”.</p>
  <p>"Don't you dare!". Ikora's alarm rings clearly out across the light-years, and Sloane grins delightedly out at the hail-lashed scenery. <em>That'll teach you to underestimate your people, Rey.</em></p>
  <p>Ikora speaks again, evidently taking a moment to reflect. It's in a much calmer tone that she adds, "Send her home as soon as you can. If she's that good at range and area control, on top of her other skills, I have some missions in mind for her. Tell her that, please.".</p>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Long Shot</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This sorry chunk of scrap has been sitting on a crate in Shaxx’s corner of the Tower for years now. Decades, even. A silent accusation every time he looks at it. Still here, it says. Still useless.</p>
<p>In theory the plan should have been simple, with so many gunsmiths around. Step one, take the weapon from its original owner - with extreme prejudice, since said owner was trying to kill him at the time. Step two, firmly and permanently discourage any repeat attempts. Step three, return home in triumph with the weapon and find somebody to take it apart, create a spec and build a prototype for him. </p>
<p>He’s hardly asking for the moon here. </p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>Except nobody has ever been able to help him. For one thing, the gun became non-functional the second he wrenched it out of the Fallen’s claws. Some bio-lock on the power conduit perhaps? Added to that, the passage of time seems to have fused some parts of the mechanism together, rendering it useless. It needs an expert - more than that, a genius - to make sense of the mess.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s reached the point of seriously considering just dropping the project on Banshee's scrap pile, writing it off as a loss, when he gets an eleventh-hour reprieve; a tip on one last person he might consult. A talented guardian who likes to fix up energy weapons as a hobby, and who's apparently responsible for over half of the complaints he gets about cheating in the Crucible. Nothing underhand, he's examined every one of the suspect weapons personally and found nothing untoward, they just seem to have a gift for rebuilding and tuning weapons of light to peak performance. He makes some enquiries, extracts a name and a location, and seizes his first spare moment to track them down.</p>
</div><hr/>
<p>Which is how he finds himself at Ayu's door late one afternoon. Between her change of name and this not being the usual neighbourhood for new guardians to be quartered in, he only realises who it is he’s calling on when she finally opens the door to his impatient knocking and glares at him.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>“Ah.”. He halts awkwardly with his hand still raised to knock again. "So <em>you</em> are the reason I have so many modified guns in my Crucible lately.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ayu doesn’t move, either to invite him in or to shut the door in his face, but the subtle tightening of her jaw suggests that was the wrong tone to take for an opening remark. He hurries to smooth it over, adding, “ - not that it’s a problem of course, in the right hands. But some of those modifications confer a significant advantage.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That is generally the idea, with modifications.”, she remarks, dark brows arched as if she’s patiently explaining something to a small child.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yes, I know that - I meant - look, the work you do is good. Exceptionally good. I need your help with a project.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Her eyes narrow. “I think you already know what my response will be.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What? No, wait - this isn't about the Crucible. I want you to do a weapons project for me.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I know what you want.”, she replies calmly. "The answer is still no.”. The door closes in his face.</p>
</div><hr/>
<p>“Shaxx, you cannot run to me every time she tells you ’no’.”.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>Try as she might, Ikora cannot keep the lilt of laughter out of her voice. Ayu has run several missions for her now, inside and outside the city walls, and she’s more than satisfied with her performance. As far as she can tell the weaponsmithing is a manageable side hobby that keeps the guardian in little luxuries like her books, and the supplies for her expanding garden. If she can now afford to pick and choose her clients - well, who has the right to tell her otherwise? Certainly not her. It’s no part of her Vanguard duties.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What else am I supposed to do? She didn’t even hear me out. If she won’t do it, there’s nobody else - Ikora, can you at least have a word with her, see if you can persuade her to take a look? I’m at my wit’s end.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That seems to be a remarkably short diversion, where Ayu is concerned. Are you sure there’s not more to it than a weapons project?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What do you mean? I haven’t asked her about the Crucible in months.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That’s not what Ikora meant, but she nobly resists the urge to tease him further. Ayu isn't short of admirers these days, but clearly Shaxx has no such ambitions.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I'll talk to her. I won’t promise anything, the decision rests entirely with her, but I will try to explain as best I can. May I ask - why are you so insistent that she needs to be the one to help you? Why not Banshee, or Sully, or one of the foundries? I have some contacts - ”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He groans in frustration. “Banshee is busy enough dealing with his own work, and besides - he forgets things these days. I don't want to be hounding him to get it finished. Sully’s better with kinetics, they’re the one who pointed me in Ayu’s direction in the first place. And the foundries - ha! If they get their hands on the design they’ll be selling it at a two hundred percent markup within the month. This needs to be <em>special</em>, Ikora. A reward for the very best, earned fair and square through their own efforts. Everyone I’ve asked says she’s the only person who can help.”.</p>
</div><hr/>
<p>Ayu is tending to her kitchen garden when Ikora calls. She’d hoped to drop Shaxx’s request into conversation over a mission briefing, but several days have gone by without there being any occasion to put her on the roster. Every time she catches Shaxx’s eye in passing he straightens up expectantly as if waiting for permission to spring into action, and to be frank it’s getting on her nerves. <em>Let’s get this over with</em>. If she walks away with a final refusal, so be it.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>There’s no doubt she’s seeing the shy guardian to her best advantage on this warm spring day; bustling calmly up and down the rows of her pot-filled terrace checking on each mini-crop, harvesting a handful of this or that into the basket slung over her arm and politely rehoming small pests and weedlings to a small compost heap in the corner. Nothing so clichéd as singing while she works, like some fairytale princess, but there’s a serene glow of contentment on her face, here amongst the greenery and the life she tends so carefully. Ikora casts her eye over the array of pots and thankfully identifies an opening gambit.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh, your peppers are flowering! Weren’t they nearly dead when you got them?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ayu spares the plant a quick glance, setting her basket down and dusting off her hands. “Nothing I couldn't deal with. I must say, it was very good of you to come all this way just to check on them. I had no idea you cared so much.”. The sardonic edge to her voice makes it clear she knows what's really going on. Caught off guard Ikora freezes, guilt written all over her face. <em>Damn</em> it. She almost feels sorry for Shaxx - even if she gets the answer he's looking for, Ayu is going to run rings around him in every conversation they have. </p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ayu sighs in irritation, raking back an unruly curl escaping its bounds and falling over her face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"i thought as much. How many times do I have to tell the warlord to leave me alone?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He has his reasons for asking, Ayu. It’s just a project, and as far as I can see you’re the ideal person to do it. He truly wouldn’t be asking if he had any other options.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So he has sent you to order me, yes?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No!”. Ikora is genuinely shocked at the suggestion. “Nothing like that … he asked me to see if I could persuade you, that’s all. He and I go back a long way. And I must admit, knowing him as I do, I’m curious to know why you dislike him so much. I know you've disagreed in the past, but - has he done something to hurt you?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Then why the antipathy?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Because …”. Ayu frowns into the distance, choosing her words. “Because I think he does not hear the word ’no’ often enough. He is accustomed to having his way, a bulldozer, a .. a steamroller. People like that, they do harm without ever even noticing.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ikora sits down on the edge of the low wall behind her, signalling both a need to think and her clear intention of going nowhere until this is resolved. “I see.”, she murmurs thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see how that would be a problem. I’ve never looked at it that way, but you’re right. But -“. She sees Ayu smile wryly at that inevitable ‘but’, hanging in the air between them, and ploughs on. “- I have never known him to be malicious, or deliberately hurtful, and I have never known him to fail to make amends where it was required.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So <em>are</em> you ordering me to take the job?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ikora sighs, exasperated. “No, I am not ordering you.”, she replies tartly.  "It will be a shame if the project doesn’t get done, but if he truly makes you so uncomfortable then I would never ask you to work with him under those circumstances.”. An idea occurs - “What if you were doing the work for me instead? Then you wouldn’t have to deal with him.”. She brightens with hopeful optimism at the solution, but Ayu firmly shakes her head.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No. Because then he will still have got his way, except you will be doing the work he is supposed to be doing.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>That seems to signal the end of the discussion, and Ikora twitches the hem of her robe ready to stand up and take her leave. But before she makes it to the gate, Ayu speaks quietly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Look. If you truly believe that there is no malice in him, and if this work will benefit more people than just him, then I will reconsider. But there are conditions.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Well, that's hopeful. She halts and turns back with an encouraging smile. “Of course. Name them.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“He must remove his helmet and speak to me as an equal, face to face. He must accept that what he wants may not be possible. And he must leave me alone to work in peace.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“That’s a lot of conditions, Ayu.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Do you think they are unreasonable?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No, I suppose not - if we were talking about anyone but Shaxx. It will be hard for him.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The guardian smiles tightly, picking up her basket and preparing to head inside. “It will be hard for both of us. I need to know he is able to make concessions too.”.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Inspection</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"She'll do it? That's marvellous! Thank you, Ikora. I knew you'd talk some sense into her.".</p><p>Ikora frowns and holds up a hand. "No. She has decided, despite her - I must say, very accurate - reading of your character, that she should give you a chance. You now have one single golden opportunity to earn her trust. Or, you can behave exactly as you normally do, and prove her initial reservations right. It's up to you.".</p><p>"Yes, yes, of course.". Shaxx dismisses the warning with a casual wave of his hand. Under his helmet, he's smiling triumphantly. Finally, he can get the project started.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Crucible handler appears at Ayu's door the very next morning, almost indecently early. Luckily she’s already awake, enjoying the barely-past-dawn light slanting across her terrace while she waits for her tea to finish brewing.  She settles back with a shawl draped over her shoulders, tilting her head back and closing her eyes to savour the moment. In moments like this she could almost believe she has the city all to herself, with the sun's warmth on her face and the rare, precious stillness before her neighbours start stirring. It’s a perfect, reflective interlude rudely shattered by Shaxx’s heavy fist beating an impatient tattoo on her front door.</p>
<p></p><div>
  <p>She doesn’t waste time wondering who it is, and she certainly doesn’t hurry to answer, detouring to pour her waiting tea and take her first blessed sip before she finally opens the door. He guiltily lowers the fist he’d raised for a second assault on the door’s panels as he registers her appearance; the tumbled mass of dark curls uncombed, the wide-legged pyjamas she’s wearing - he’s disturbed her before she’s even started her day. Another black mark against him, he has no doubt.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He braces for her to tell him to take a hike, but to his surprise she opens the door wide without a word and turns away to sit at her workbench. As invitations to enter go it could hardly be less inviting, but it’s a significant step up from closing the door in his face. After a second he cautiously ducks his head and steps over the threshold, crossing the room and catching her up in a couple of easy strides.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It’s dim inside the tiny apartment, with the shutters on the east side still firmly closed, but the area around her workbench is lit by a faint glow from the skylight above. He takes an appreciative deep breath as the scent of tannin and peppermint curls past his face, and rejects the impulse to ask if there might possibly be another cup in the pot. Instead he reaches behind him and detaches the fused weapon from his backplate, holding it out to her without a word.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn’t take it. She’s watching his face - no, his face<em>plate</em>, since he hasn't removed his helmet yet - and her expression is carefully null, almost rigid. The expectant silence stretches out until he feels forced to fill it.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ikora said you agreed to help me.”, he prompts flatly. He isn’t about to waste his time with more attempts at persuasion or flattery, not when he knows how they’ll be received. No, this is strictly business. Get the job done. “I thought you’d like to get started as soon as possible.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Did you.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Oh</em>. That doesn’t sound like a question, based on the sudden steel edge in her voice. That sounds like an invitation to reconsider his assumptions.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I … ah. Yes. Well then, <em>I’d</em> like to get started as soon as possible. Is that a problem?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“It’s not first on my list.”. She take a thoughtful sip of her tea, placing the cup back on the table and keeping her hand on it while she stares at him. “There were conditions.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Damn</em>. He’d thought Ikora was joking about those. About the first one, anyway. Of course the helmet comes off, how else is a man supposed to eat, or sleep? But assorted guardians’ obsessions with seeing his face, like it’s some kind of trophy, have made it a touchy subject with him. He shrugs impatiently and tried to hand her the gun again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I assumed that was some foolish jest on Ikora’s part. You don’t need to see my face to work on the gun.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She stands up and walks past him to the door, pulling it open again. “I have not one single positive memory of armed men in masks giving me orders.”, she remarks, apparently addressing the empty air beside the doorframe. "If you will not speak to me face to face, I cannot work with you.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A sudden vision assails him, of the ruined weapon in his hand sitting back on its pedestal of shame amongst all the other projects waiting to get started. All of his long-held hopes for turning it into something amazing, something desired and coveted by the very best warriors the Tower can produce, all lying in tatters at his feet. Frustrated anger boils up as he considers just throwing the damn thing away here and now. It’s so clear in his mind’s eye, such a grand gesture, striding masterfully out of here without another word.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Like she read his mind, she pointedly nudges the door open another inch. “If you are going to throw a tantrum, you can do it outside.”. There’s disdain in her voice - no, that’s not it. It's not anger, either, it’s …disappointment?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Damn it. He’s doing it again. <em>Excellent work, Shaxx</em>. Every interaction the two of them have, every single time, he somehow manages to cement her low opinion of him. What does it take to get on the right side of her?</p>
  <p><em>...you could start by doing as she asks</em>, his inner voice prompts.</p>
  <p>He wavers for a second then drops the gun on the workbench with a <em>thunk</em> and reaches irritably for the catch on his helmet.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Very well. But if I find out you’re doing this for some kind of bet …”; he tails off threateningly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>There’s a gleam in her eye, for the first time ever since he first spoke to her, that looks almost like approval.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I don't gamble.”, she replies coolly. “I prefer to be sure of things.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>As the catches give and the helmet comes off she closes the door again and comes alongside him, casting a brief glance up at his face. "Thank you.", she murmurs.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He's warmed by her automatic courtesy, but also faintly taken aback by how disinterested she is in looking at his face now that it’s on display. She's already focused on the project, turning the slagged weapon over and over in her strong hands and probing various sections with a tiny pick from her tool belt. Straight to work, eh? It's exactly what he wanted so he shouldn't be complaining. On the other hand ... well, he owns a mirror, and he didn’t think the face he looks at in it every day was <em>that</em> objectionable. A little lived-in, sure, but not dreadful. He wasn't expecting her to swoon, but after making all that fuss about it he'd expected some comment. Never mind. The project is the priority.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So? What do you think?”, he prompts eagerly.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Not nearly as bad as i was expecting.", she replies distantly, apparently still intent on her work. After a second she adds, "And the weapon is probably salvageable too.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It takes him far longer than he’d like to realise that she's teasing him, a faint smile hovering on her lips as she examines the weapon. He laughs quietly to himself, shaking his head, and with the other conditions Ikora relayed to him ringing in his ears he reaches for his helmet again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Well, I'll let you work in peace. How long do you think it will take?".</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She puts the gun down and sits back, pursing her lips and staring at the wall with a thoughtful frown. “Hard to say. Come back in two days; I should know enough by then to draft a schematic. But a prototype ... well, that will depend on what i find.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Two days.”. He nods firmly, helmet already back in place. “I’ll look forward to it.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She rolls her eyes as the door bangs shut behind him. “<em>Que milagro</em>,”, she murmurs to herself, “the warlord listens.”. But that faint hint of a smile remains.</p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Observant readers will have noticed I'm carefully avoiding Shaxx's face. This is not an oversight :) I know we all have different ideas about what he looks like, but if you need a reference I'm basing my headcanon on the British actor Idris Elba. Opinions welcome.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Setback</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s probably a good thing that Shaxx had a tournament to run, otherwise he’d have broken his word and ended up back at Ayu’s door well before the promised two days were up. As it is he’s heading over there as soon as the medals have been handed out and the crowds disperse, impatiently shouldering through the stragglers and making for the lower levels to pick up the back roads that will take him there with the least detours.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The door is on the latch when he arrives; first contact with his fist nudges it open and he cautiously steps inside, hesitating as his eyes adjust to the dim light and he realises she’s nowhere to be seen. He moves slowly across the room, gazing curiously at the mess of parts and tools scattered across the table. It’s hard to tell from here if he’s on track to get a functioning weapon or not.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>As he gets closer he can see that there’s some kind of pattern to it, all the pieces separate but perfectly aligned and placed in order, like an exploded diagram. Detailed sketches in various stages of completeness crowd the wall under the window, scraps of paper and parchment in all sizes taped to the plaster, all covered in meticulous drawings and annotations in a precise, looping hand. It might as well be Fallen glyphs, for all the sense it makes to him. He can recognise what might be mathematical formulae in amongst the cryptic comments and abbreviations, but he has no idea what they’re for.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Well. She clearly knows her stuff. But where is she?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The side door swings open and she steps through from the terrace with a handful of edible roots from one of her crops; she gives him a firm nod somewhere between welcome and recognition and moves to the kitchen sink to deposit her harvest in a waiting basin and wash her hands, finally turning back as she grabs a towel to dry her hands.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Er - the door was open.”, he offers in awkward defence of his presence.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Yes. I knew you’d be coming this afternoon.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Really? How?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She doesn’t answer, rolling her eyes as she tosses the towel back on the counter and moves over to the workbench. As she passes him she stares fixedly up at his face.</p>
</div><div>
  <p><em>Faceplate</em>. <em>Damn</em>. He hastily removes his helmet, revealing a bashful expression that sits very oddly atop those armoured shoulders, and she savagely suppresses the urge to laugh. <em>He's actually trying, Ayu</em>, she scolds herself. <em>Be nice</em>.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“So, how goes the investigation?”, he enquires hopefully.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Very well.”, she replies, indicating the gallery of sketches. “I can see now how it would have worked originally. But there may be a problem.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Oh?”. His face falls, and she swiftly turns her head to hide the escaping flicker of a smile again. He has no business being so ludicrously engaging - no wonder the helmet stays on. If guardians ever saw that woebegone puppy face, they’d never take him seriously again. She collects herself, fetching another chair and beckoning him to be seated so she can explain.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“How many of these will you need? This is for a Crucible reward, yes?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“… yes.”, he cautiously acknowledges. He’s more than half afraid the problem here is that she won’t work on it on those grounds, knowing how strongly she disapproves of the activity. But to his immense relief she nods decisively and continues.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"This was one of a kind, custom made. There are some parts of it I can leave out, but things like the plasma chamber, the lens array, those are going to need specialist materials.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She pushes a scrap of paper over to him, and he peers intently at the detailed cost estimate. The total at the bottom makes him wince, and she spreads her hands wide in a ’there you are then’ gesture.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“if you only need one of these made, the cost might be acceptable. If you want ten, it will be very expensive. A thousand, ten thousand, more? - you will need a different prototype altogether, to account for mass production.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I see.”. He stares at the neat column of numbers, willing them to resolve into something more affordable. A week ago he’d convinced himself the whole project was impossible, and that was enough to send him into deep gloom; somehow this is worse, knowing it’s entirely possible but equally entirely beyond his means.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Shaxx?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What? Oh. Sorry. What did you say?”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I said, how many did you plan to make?”. She doesn’t seem annoyed at having to repeat herself, thank goodness. If anything she seems amused.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I don’t know - I’d imagined maybe five hundred? Possibly a thousand.”. He curses himself for sounding so vague, now she’s done such a sterling job on the investigation and, from the look of it, stands ready to take on the rest of the project if he gives the word. He frowns again at the list; there has to be some way he can source some of these materials in bulk without bankrupting himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Ayu sits back, resting her chin on one hand and trying not to smile at his tragic expression.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“There may be cheaper alternatives for the lenses. I know someone in the artisan quarter who could do something similar with dusklight, if I can collect enough on patrol.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Distracted as he is, this snaps his attention back instantly. “Patrol? Ayu, there’s no need for you to risk yourself like that.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“What risk? I run more patrols than you do, these days. I think I can handle myself.”. Her smile is vanquished, replaced by a quizzical frown.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“No, it’s just - I suppose I didn’t think of you as the type to take on active combat duty.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He’s dimly aware he may be digging himself a hole, as the atmosphere in the room turns subtly colder, but it’s too late to turn the conversation back to safer lines. Besides, Ayu’s rejection of everything he cares about has been bothering him more than he’d admit. He doubles down.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Look, I’m not judging you. You’re far from the only guardian who fears the Crucible. I’m just saying … not everyone is cut out to be a warrior, is all.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“I see.". There's no smile to be seen now, only cold realisation. "You think that because I refuse to murder my peers for sport, I am a coward.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"I never said that - “.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She cuts him off, raising a hand palm-out as if to block his words.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>"You didn’t need to. I know what you think, I am a - a mouse where you are a lion, and lions see no value in anything but the hunt. Until you get a thorn in your stupid paw, and suddenly you need a clever mouse to save you.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The non-sequitur throws him completely off whatever balance he was clinging to. How is that old fable relevant ...? “I don’t understand.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She indicates the ruined weapon on the table. "Here is your thorn, brave warlord.”. Her voice drips with disdain. "How much has this troubled you, not being able to fix it? You cannot. <em>You</em> do not know how. While I - I can do everything you can do, <em>and</em> I can turn this into a reward that will have your Crucible full of bloodthirsty guardians happily murdering each other just for a chance to own it.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She’s right, of course. He has no defence. He needs her, otherwise this project will never be completed. White-hot panic floods his brain. <em>Think, damn it!</em></p>
</div><div>
  <p>"Ayu, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to - “.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She turns back to her workbench and waves a dismissive hand without looking at him. "If you don’t know what you want right now I have other work to do. Come back when you have decided.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>The message is plain; <em>time to get lost, Shaxx, before you make things any worse</em>. Defeated, he jams on his helmet and leaves.</p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Recovery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Maybe Shaxx really is too busy all of a sudden to go back and give Ayu a definite answer. Or maybe he's just avoiding her until he’s worked out how to open his mouth without inserting both feet.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He’ll apologise, of course he will. He knows exactly what he said and why it was a problem, but for the life of him he can’t fathom why it bothers him so much. He’s no monster, he assures himself. Loud, certainly. A little blunt perhaps, a little slow to read the room, but then he’s never pretended otherwise. He doesn’t mean to go around stomping on people’s feelings, but they hardly need to be best friends to work on the project. And if she disapproves of the Crucible so strongly then they have very little else in common. Perhaps it’s for the best. Strictly business.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>But … he didn't like the way her face closed off at his ill-considered words. He knows he’s capable of doing better. <em>Being</em> better. And he intends to prove it.</p>
</div><hr/><p>When he arrives at her door after a week of introspection she’s all hard edges again, on her guard - the gradual warming of her attitude towards him might as well have never happened. He curses himself silently. It’s not even about the damn gun any more, he realises, it’s purely about her. Being able to get to the end of one encounter with her without feeling like she’s wishing him far away.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>Well, here goes … he sits down, removing his helmet unprompted, and sets it on the table before turning to her.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“Ayu - I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. You were right. It must seem as though I don’t value anything outside the Crucible, and probably you’re not the only person I’ve offended. But you <em>are</em> the only person who has ever set me straight so clearly and so publicly.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She’s carefully not meeting his eyes, staring aside at at the pile of parts on the table, but her mouth crimps briefly with ironic amusement. "I guessed as much, that first time we met.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He winces at the reminder. “I didn’t cover myself in glory there, did I. If you don’t want to work with me any more, I - well, I’ll understand. But I hope you will.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>She’s not immune to that appeal, as much as she’d like to think otherwise. Honestly, how can a man who’s seven feet tall and almost as broad contrive to look like a chastened schoolboy at will? It’s unfair.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He senses she's wavering, and presses his advantage - but gently. “Please, Mouse …? that’s the moral of the fable, isn’t it? The lion has to swallow his pride and ask to be rescued.”.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>A faint ‘hm!’ escapes her, and he fears he may have pushed his luck too far. But, wonder of wonders, when she raises her gaze to his face she’s smiling again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>“The warlord learns. There may be hope for you after all. So, have you finally decided how many of these you want to build?”.</p>
</div><hr/><p>After that promising start he gradually recovers more ground. He starts sending a message ahead via his ghost before appearing at her door; he knocks gently instead of hammering on the wooden panels like he’s trying to break in. He leaves his Crucible commentator voice on the threshold and speaks to her in a tone that virtually nobody else in the tower would recognise, soft and respectful.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>Occasionally he arrives with gifts - nothing over the top, just little things he picked up somewhere or other that he thought might interest her. Bits of mechanism and scraps of hard-to-source materials from Banshee’s breakdown pile. A neatly wrapped packet of loose tea, to replace the endless cups he drinks while he watches her work. Anything he thinks might make her smile.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>While she works he talks about the Crucible, about how much it matters to him and why, about how many guardians were caught unprepared and complacent when the Cabal arrived, and how he swore not to let that happen again. He reminisces about Ikora’s advice that turning it into a spectacle, a sport, would fill the rosters - 'if they won’t show up to train, they’ll certainly show up to show off', she’d said, and he beams with obvious pride at his friend’s wise insight. If he only knew, that in itself is enough to lower Ayu’s defences, his unashamed respect and admiration for a friend so different to himself.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He soon learns that if the kitchen is in disarray, the chopping board still littered with scraps of vegetable peelings and a pot of something bubbling on the stove, she’s had a frustrating day on her projects and downed tools to make ‘angry stew’ - his private name for it, after he witnessed the efficient fury with which she eviscerated a squash one time. Angry or not, it always smells delicious. Perhaps one day he’ll get to sample it, who knows?</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And he learns that on particularly difficult days she retreats to her hidden mezzanine, curling up in the overstuffed armchair and whiling away an hour reading while her temper subsides. It’s no coincidence that the next apparently random offering he brings is an antique book, a short treatise on ballistics in pre-Golden Age kinetic weapons that may or may not have come from his own personal collection.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>It pays off. Now when she hears his heavy footsteps approaching she still rolls her eyes - but she smiles a little as well. His voice booming from the courtyard as he greets whichever of her neighbours happens to be passing is the signal to fill the kettle and set it on the stove to boil. A chair that used to sit pushed back against the wall in the kitchen is now permanently placed at the end of her workbench, angled so he can talk to her without getting in her way. He has a place in her life, however peripheral, however conditional.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>He could go on like this forever, just basking in the comfortable feeling he gets around her, in the freedom to show up and be part of her day for as long as he can spare, but the more the prototype progresses the more unsettled he gets. He’s been so keen to see the project finished, he hadn’t thought about what would happen when the job was done and he didn’t have an excuse to call on her any more. Once the thing is done, it’s highly unlikely their paths will cross again.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>Unless he can bring her another project … hm, yes. Time to tidy up that junk corner back at his Tower post. There’s bound to be something to interest her, in amongst all those mementos. </p>
</div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Testing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The nickname sticks. She doesn't mind - in fact she quite likes it. It's part of the secret side to Shaxx that she's pretty sure very few people get to see. Besides, there’s something about the way he says it. When he says ‘Mouse' he isn't saying <em>small, weak, frightened</em>; he's saying <em>brave, wise, thoughtful</em>. He's saying <em>rescuer</em>. She can live with that.</p>

<p></p><div>
  <p>As the prototype goes through its different stages it begins to strike him just how many friends she has, and how varied they are. There's one who can make the lenses, another who can source a sample of relic iron and try to reproduce its structure, another still who has access to a machine shop to build a new frame. Having spent so much time around her now he no longer marvels at it, seeing her rare gift for understanding and validating people from all walks of life, one he can only envy across an impossible distance. He doesn’t believe he’s a terrible person himself, but she - well, she’s in another league. A force for good.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>And her friend network even extends to Crucible regulars, to his surprise; she arrives at his lookout post one bright afternoon with a group of them in tow ready for a scheduled private match. He was expecting them but he's taken aback by her appearance here, not sure how to react, but the team swarms up to him and his Crucible brain quickly takes over. Of course the gun needs live-fire testing, obviously he should have foreseen that, but never in a million years would he have imagined she’d want to be present for it. Never mind, there’s work to be done.</p>
</div><div>
  <p>As the pre-match preparations get underway Ayu stands off to one side out of the way and watches how Shaxx interacts with his players; affectionate shoulder punches in greeting, shouts of laughter and backslapping when they give him joking back-talk. Even when the team heads down to the arena and gets started the physicality remains, with him pacing back and forth on a short track in front of the screens, leaping forward and throwing up his arms in delight or shaking a fist at the sky in exasperation. He throws his whole being into the role. It’s evident now just what an effort he’s been making all this time, being so subdued and careful around her, when what she’s seeing here is far more his normal behaviour. His real self, she thinks, identifying a twinge of discomfort. She doesn’t like that he might feel he has to be someone different just for her.</p>
</div><hr/>
<p>The finished prototype is brutal in action. The original was a custom tool for instant, long-range death and her carefully-constructed replica doesn’t disappoint. Solar bolts streak across the screen, straight and true, and unlucky victims disappear in a shower of sparks, a faint human outline twisting away on the breeze. It’s as beautiful as a death can ever be.</p>

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  <p>After a while Ayu stops watching the play and instead focuses on Shaxx; how he coaches and praises the players in the arena, how he notes every play big or small. Nothing escapes him. She wishes she could see his face right now, can only imagine how those strong features light up with joyful exuberance at a successful play, how they fall when consoling someone who came off worse from an encounter even as he coaxes them to get back up and try again. And the players in turn respond to that constant stream of encouragement, nodding or signalling thanks as they respawn and dive back into the fray, fists pumping as they dodge around a corner and reload. She still has zero desire for stepping into the arena herself , but she can see why others would. Even secondhand, his obviously genuine praise warms her through and through.</p>
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  <p>Several minutes into the match, the defining moment comes. Each guardian has already taken a turn with the prototype, handing it off to the next in line with good-natured trash-talk, making sure to see how it handles in different scenarios and with varied play styles and classes. As the sixth guardian comes to end their turn, Shaxx halts play and calls a hasty parlay.</p>
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  <p>“Well now, Guardians. It seems to me, that perhaps your hearts aren’t truly in it. Let’s see if you can convince me. Whoever is next on the rota gets to keep the weapon for the rest of the match … unless one of you can bring them down.”.</p>
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  <p>There’s a moment's stunned silence before everyone turns to stare at the exo hunter now holding the prototype, and she raises it in a brief salute. “Come get it, losers!”, she whoops, and with that she’s cloaked and vanished into the tunnels while they’re still calculating angles.</p>
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  <p>If Ayu thought the match was intense before, well - this is a whole new level of competition. Five against one might feel like good odds, but not one of them wants to share the kill and risk not getting the weapon. All bets are off. Teammates are tripped, blocked, incinerated and fried, tethered and suppressed until the whole arena is shimmering with Light residue, savage laughter and blistering curses exploding all over the map. It’s insane. Through it all the hunter dodges and jinks, appearing out of nowhere for one perfect kill after another then vanishing again to hunt down yet another hapless teammate.</p>
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  <p>“Yes!”, Shaxx hisses triumphantly. “Look at them, Mouse - look how badly they want to win the prize. This is perfect!”.</p>
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  <p>She shakes her head, half disbelieving and half admiring. More than ever she swears she’s never ever going in there, but she can’t help but be infected with his delight. When one brave soul at last manages to land a final blow on the hunter and claim the spoils, the whole team roars with mingled individual dismay and team-wide triumph.</p>
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  <p>Shaxx reacts in kind, bellowing delightedly as he grips the edges of his console, and turns back to Ayu. Before she knows quite what’s happening she’s swept up in a bear hug, being swung around by this giant of a man as he chants “We did it! We did it, we did it - just <em>look</em> how much they want it! Mouse, you’re a genius!”.</p>
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  <p>She goes rigid, straining to hold herself back from him, arms folded against his chest as he finally comes to a halt. He freezes as he takes in her discomfort and the line he’s just unwittingly crossed. “Oh - I’m sorry, are you alright? I didn't mean to - I - I’m sorry.”.</p>
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  <p>She nods jerkily, staring fixedly over his shoulder, and speaks in a small voice. “Put me down, please.”.</p>
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  <p>“Yes - of course.”.</p>
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  <p>He deposits her back on her feet with extreme care and takes a half step back, watching her anxiously while she backs away on suddenly unsteady legs. For a moment she thinks he’s going to speak, to say something else, apologise again or offer an excuse or something, but she refuses to look at him, to give him an opening. He takes the hint, thank the Traveller, and turns back to the screens to offer more encouragement.</p>
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  <p>She waits until his attention is diverted before she leans against the crates behind her, closing her eyes and cursing her pounding heart and the dryness of her mouth. It’s not fear, this feeling. Not anger. It’s … being picked up like that, like she weighed nothing at all, it made her feel …</p>
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  <p>Something. Something she’s not entirely sure she’s ready to acknowledge.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. To The Point</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shaxx is in a strange mood today; overnight he's gone from exhilarated to oddly subdued. Without question yesterday's test was a victory - more than that, a triumph! pure vindication of his obsession with getting the gun made. Every guardian involved in the testing was heaped with extra credit and rewards, and even so from the reluctant backward glances and heavy sighs it's clear they'd all much rather have carried away the new weapon as their prize. No matter - they'll have their chance to earn it soon enough.</p><p>He’s on his way to make the final arrangements now, strolling through the back streets on the way to Ayu’s lodging so they can do the final handover. It should be a good feeling, finally being within hailing distance of the glory he’s been imagining for so long. But since the match ended he's found himself preoccupied with his latest misstep, picking Ayu up like that in the heat of the moment. What was he thinking? Still, it could have been worse; if he'd not had his helmet on he might well have kissed her, and … <em>I wonder how it would feel to do that?</em> his treacherous brain interjects and he freezes mid step, horrified, to admonish the thought.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>It refuses to be banished. It's altogether too pleasant a mental image, and his memory obligingly supplies how her small frame braced against him, the strength in her arms and the softness of, well, other parts, and - <em>damn it, stop that.</em> This is a business partnership, nothing more.</p>
  <p>He more or less gets those intrusive thoughts under control by the time he comes in sight of her door. He’s been testing different routes, idly curious to see more of the neighbourhood for reasons he can’t quite pin down, which is how he ends up approaching from the other side of the complex for a change. As he rounds what he’s calculated ought to be the final corner and stops to get his bearings he can see her out on her terrace with a steaming mug at her elbow, engrossed in a book. It looks like it might be the one he gave her, fattened with scrap-paper bookmarks where she’s marked an interesting page for later study. He's glad to see his gift hit the mark.</p>
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  <p>It must be past the end of her work day; her hair is unbound from the severe knots and plaits she uses to keep it up out of her way while she's working, bouncing in wild spirals over her shoulders like a living thing. He hasn’t seen it like that for a long time. While she reads she absently gathers a single stray curl and twists it, smoothing it out to a shining ribbon flattened between her fingers and letting it spring back to a perfect coil before capturing it again. His fingers twitch, idly wondering how that would feel against his hand, and he savagely suppresses the thought. He has no business thinking like that. Nevertheless he stands and stares for far longer than he should, not sure why the sight should be so enchanting. She’s just sitting in the slanting afternoon sun, reading a book. Nothing magical about that, surely.</p>
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  <p>A passing neighbour greets him, shaking him out of his reverie and alerting Ayu to his presence. As she looks up her expression transforms instantly from solemn study to bright welcome, and some of his nervous tension dissipates. Perhaps he hasn't completely destroyed her trust in him, if she doesn't seem to be holding yesterday's idiotic impulse against him.</p>
</div><hr/><p>For her part, Ayu has been similarly conflicted since yesterday. Now it would be massively overstating the case to say she couldn’t stop thinking about it, but she certainly found her mind wandering curiously back to that moment every now and again while she organised notes and packaged up components ready to hand over to Shaxx. Thank the Traveller he didn't make a big deal out of it, in fact once she was back on her own two feet and he'd turned back to his screens it wasn't mentioned again, but still - it <em>happened</em>. It happened, and it unsettled her enough that she needs to work out why.</p><p></p><div>
  <p>Morning brought no new insights, but seeing him approaching from the end of the alley brings the moment back to the top of her mind. What she felt then, what she feels now, it's ... the closest she can come to describing it is <em>exhilaration</em>. A kind of secure excitement, acknowledging the approach of a force of nature, but one that's somehow safe and welcome. If he decided to pick her up like that again, would she object? Would she want to ...? It's entirely possible she might just be hoping he'll do it again, just so she can find out. </p>
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  <p><em>Hmm</em>. She tucks that unexpected thought away for later examination, ducking inside to put the kettle on. <em>Act normal Ayu, for goodness sake</em>, she scolds herself. This is just a contract, however excitable the man is.</p>
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  <p>"So yesterday's test went very well.", she comments lightly as he steps hesitantly through the side door. "I think you're all set for production. Everything is ready for you.".</p>
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  <p>He responds absently, something in the affirmative, and stares moodily at the workbench while she keeps up a steady flow of information even though all the information is in the schematic and her detailed notes; it doesn't occur to him that it's unlike her to be quite so chatty. At the top of his mind is how unexpectedly depressing it is, seeing it all there in front of him; his prototype neatly bundled up ready to be taken away, to hand off wholesale to the small foundry he’s selected for the next phase.</p>
  <p>Shaxx has never backed down from a fight, not ever; never quailed in the face of duty or let himself be daunted by impossible odds. So the sudden terror that grips him is a new experience. With a hundred armed Fallen charging him down, he would laugh in their faces. With this tiny, fierce, kind, severe, clever and altogether delightful warlock breezily telling him he’s free of any future obligation, he's one shallow breath away from flat panic.</p>
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  <p>"I may have some other projects you’d be interested in.", he blurts out, nodding thoughtfully as if he’d been listening the whole time. “It's past time i cleared some of the corners in my armoury.".</p>
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  <p>"Oh?". The way her face brightens at that suggestion gives him sudden hope. “Well, you know where to find me.”.</p>
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  <p>He smiles and tries to force himself to relax, now he's given himself an opening to keep coming back. But it’s ... <em>wrong</em> somehow, and he knows it. “No. I need to be honest with you.”.</p>
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  <p>It's hard to tell if she’s apprehensive, confused or entertained - or a mix of all three; but as she sets a steaming cup in front of him she faces him squarely, a gentle wave of her hand inviting him to continue.</p>
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  <p>"Well then, warlord. Be honest.”.</p>
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  <p>“I said I had projects - that’s not strictly true. I said that so I have an excuse to keep coming to see you.”.</p>
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  <p>“You think you need an excuse?”. She looks quizzical. "Friends talk to each other whenever they want to. No excuses needed.”.</p>
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  <p>"No. I mean, <em>yes</em>, but … “, seeing her confusion deepen he hastens to clarify, "no, listen, I realised yesterday - I don’t think how I feel about you is ‘friendly’. And if I just keep showing up and pretending that’s all it is, it’s … well, it’s just not right.”.</p>
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  <p>She’s frozen, staring at him like he’s grown an extra head, and he panics slightly. Maybe he’s not making sense? He’s not sure the words are coming out right. He’s not sure the words are coming out at all. Damn it, he ought to have rehearsed. Maybe he could quote some Shakespeare.</p>
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  <p>Maybe not. The words keep tumbling out one after the other.</p>
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  <p>“Ayu, I’ve barely heard a word you've said in the last thirty seconds. I was staring at you like an idiot just wondering - how your lips would taste if I were brave enough to kiss you.”. She looks stunned and he hurries to fill the silence. “If you don’t want - I mean, if friendship is all you want from me that’s not a problem, I just thought - I just thought I should say something. So you know. Um.”.</p>
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  <p>Awkward silence falls as he finally runs down, staring miserably at his feet. Ayu is first to break it. "Sit down.”.</p>
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  <p>“What?”.</p>
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  <p>"I said, sit down. I will not have this conversation with the underside of your chin, as charming as it is. <em>Sit</em>.”.</p>
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  <p>There's no arguing with that tone; even as his inner voice is burbling <em>so</em> <em>she thinks my chin is charming?</em> his knees obediently buckle, bringing his armoured backside into contact with the chair behind him with a jolt and bringing him down to her level.</p>
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  <p>"Better.", she approves with an encouraging nod and comes closer, standing almost touching his knees. "Now you can look me in the eye and say that again. ".</p>
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  <p>“Wh- which part?", he manages to stammer.</p>
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  <p>"All of it. Any of it. I liked the part about my lips.".</p>
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  <p>Damn it, she's teasing him. The lips under discussion are quirked up in an indulgent smile, irresistibly summoned by the dumbstruck panic in his eyes.</p>
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  <p>“I - er - was wondering how your lips would taste?", he ventures in a tiny voice that's barely a whisper, and the smile broadens until her face is alight with laughter. And she's closer, and closer still, and those lips are coming nearer, her slender hands resting on his furred collar as she leans in and <em>oh there it is</em>, the gentlest of touches as she presses her lips to his, drawing back slowly to look him in the eye.</p>
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  <p>It's a good thing he was already sitting down; even that simple touch is enough to turns his legs to jelly. And that's before you factor in her slender fingers tracing up his throat, along his jaw, across his cheek and back again as if mapping his features. He's unused to such gentleness, but by god he could happily grow accustomed. If he sits perfectly still, perhaps she'll never stop?</p>
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  <p>"So?". It's a breath against his face, barely a word at all, just enough to bring him back to the present.</p>
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  <p>"Sorry - what - ".</p>
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  <p>She laughs aloud, a bubbling up of joy and relief all in one. "How do they taste, warlord?".</p>
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  <p>He wants to say - like strawberries dipped in sparkling wine. Like sunshine. Like promise. Like heaven … but he can’t make the poetry come out. He can’t form a word beyond <em>again</em> and possibly <em>please</em>. He wants to slide his arms around her, surround her and engulf her and kiss her over and over again ... but he mustn't. Must he? She has to be in control, or she'll rightly never trust him again.</p>
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  <p>But then it dawns on him that she's trusting him <em>now</em> - after the way he picked her up yesterday, she's willingly put herself in reach again. That has to mean something. He leans into her, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder to draw her closer; opening his mouth to say something, <em>anything</em>, he finds that words are beyond him and simply kisses her again, pulling her into the circle of his arms and hoping she understands.</p>
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